


arabella and the christmas moose

by tragicallynerdy



Category: UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Arabella is a skeptic, Background AlyClaySon, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Mirabella - Freeform, Moose, The Christmas Moose, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragicallynerdy/pseuds/tragicallynerdy
Summary: "You're making cookies," Arabella said slowly. "For the Christmas moose, who brings presents on Christmas." She squinted. "Is this a Western thing?""Oh my god," Miriam abandoned her baking, turning around to gape at Arabella. "You've never heard of the Christmas moose, have you."In which the citizens of Deadwood believe in the local legend of the Christmas Moose, and Arabella is skeptical. Because really, there's no way that a benevolent magical megafauna actually exists. Right?
Relationships: Aloysius Fogg/Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe, Miriam Landisman/Arabella Whitlock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	arabella and the christmas moose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afearsomecritter (jsaer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsaer/gifts).



> Happy holidays, folks! 
> 
> So I wanted to do a little Christmas fic, and had asked folks on the UnDeadwood discord for prompts, and the wonderful afearsomecritter gave me the prompt "christmas moose." Many thanks, friend!! The idea turned into this ridiculous fic, because I couldn't get the idea out of my head. In my defense, I'm Canadian.

"What are you making, love?"

Miriam turned and smiled, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek. She left a long smear of flour, one that Arabella thought looked rather lovely on her. Then again, she thought everything looked rather lovely on Miriam.

"Treats for the Christmas moose," Miriam said. She turned back to her baking and added a dash of cinnamon, then kept stirring. "So he'll have something sweet with the carrots Clayton's leaving out."

"The what?" Arabella shook her head, sure she'd misheard. Maybe she had water in her ear. Maybe she was getting old, and her hearing was going out. "The Christmas moose?"

"Yes, you know, the moose who brings the presents 'round?"

"You mean Santa's reindeer? I ain't ever heard of his sleigh bein' pulled by a moose before.”

Miriam turned, a frown crossing her face. "No, Santa ain't real. You know that, right?"

"I ain't the one baking cookies for his reindeer." Arabella huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Yes, of course I know that Santa ain't real, Miriam."

"No, but the Christmas moose is." Miriam kept staring at her like Arabella was an especially slow child. It wasn't a look Arabella received often, and she didn't think she enjoyed it. "These ain't for Santa's reindeer, they're for him.”

"Uh huh, sure," Arabella said slowly. "The Christmas moose, who brings presents on Christmas, is real." She squinted. "Is this a Western thing?"

"Oh my god," Miriam abandoned her baking, turning around to gape at Arabella. "You've never heard of the Christmas moose, have you."

“No, I most assuredly have not.”

“Well,” Miriam said, planting flour-clad hands on her hips. “We’ve got to rectify that, haven’t we?”

* * *

"The Christmas moose," Clayton said, "is a tradition 'round these parts."

"Then how do you know about it?" Arabella crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. "You're just as new to Deadwood as I am."

Clayton pointed the rag in his hand at her. "Hush." He went back to cleaning his gun, carefully wiping down each part then setting it back on the table. Arabella huffed but quieted down; Clayton was as stubborn as a mule, and he wouldn't keep talking until she was silent.

"The Christmas moose," he went on, "brings gifts. Kinda like Saint Nick, in the stories, but y'know. He don't fit down the chimney."

"Of course he don't." Arabella didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "Let me guess, he's got someone to do it for him."

Clayton looked confused. "No, I just said he ain't no Saint Nick. He just dumps the gifts at your door, then hammers on it with his hooves 'til you wake up. Y'know, so they don't get ruined in the snow?"

"Oh my god, are you serious? He hammers on the door with his hooves."

"Yup. Nearly broke down m' door last year, too."

Arabella put her face in her hands. "Clayton, I am twenty-five goddamn years old, please stop telling me children's stories like they're real."

"Hey, it ain't no goddamn children's story. He ain't Saint Nick. He's real."

Arabella rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing the non-existent dust from her dress. "Well, thank you for that wonderful story Clay, but I'm going to go talk to someone who ain't gonna tell me fairy tales."

She went to the door and shrugged on her coat and mitts, then pulled the door open.

"Don't let him hear you say he's a fairy tale," Clayton called behind her. "Or else he ain't gonna bring you gifts."

"Think I'll survive," she hollered back. "Thanks ever so much for the wonderful help, Clay."

She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

"Oh, yes, the Christmas moose!" Matthew brightened at her question. "He's delightful. Brings a lot of joy to folks around these parts."

"But he ain't real," Arabella said firmly. "You know that, right?"

Matthew looked aghast. "Arabella! Of course he's real!"

"Reverend. Please, I ain't gonna argue with you on the existence of God. But a moose, who brings gifts at Christmas? Who knocks on your door so you know the gifts are there?"

"Well..." Matthew scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "It's more like he hammers, really. Hooves, you know. They make it hard to knock."

She stared, then shook her head. "I really don't know why I expected anything else from you, really. I'm still surprised Clayton believes in this stupid story, but you, you should not be a surprise." She sighed, then picked up bundle of pine boughs, glancing about the half-decorated church. There were candles everywhere, and more ribbons than she could count. "Here, I may as well help while I'm here." Matthew beamed, so she hastily asked another question before his gratitude bubbled over everywhere. "So how come I ain't heard about this Christmas moose last year?"

"Oh, well, you went back East for the holidays the last couple of years. It’s hard to hear about something you ain't around for."

Arabella squinted at him. "I'm sure I'd have heard it before now, though. It's quite a remarkable regional difference to the Saint Nicholas story. I'm curious about where it came from; maybe it's Irish, there's quite a few Irish-men around here, aren't there?"

"Are moose an Irish thing?" Matthew sounded doubtful.

"No, probably not." She sighed. "Guess I've got more research to do."

* * *

“ _Please_ tell me that you don’t believe in the Christmas moose.”

Aly grinned. “You finally heard about him, huh. I was wonderin’ when you’d learn about our local legend.”

She groaned and flopped back on the sofa. “You too? Aly. Aly, _why_.”

“Because it’s fun, and the kids and poor folks round here need something to look forward to.” She thought that finally someone would admit that it was just a goddamn story, that it was just there to help folks feel in the holiday spirit, but no, Aly kept talking. “And because there’s really nothin’ like seein’ a giant fuckin’ moose walkin’ down the thoroughfare, draggin’ a sack of gifts behind him.”

“Oh my _god_.” She pulled a pillow over her face. “I’m going to scream. Megafauna do _not deliver gifts._ What is wrong with y’all?”

“You seen a dead man walk, but you’re doubtin’ that there’s a benevolent magical moose out there?”

He had a point, but she refused to acknowledge it. “Where does he even get the gifts, Aly? Huh? Does he have a magical toy shop, with little elves who make them?”

Aly scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not Santa Clause.”

She threw the pillow at him.

* * *

It went on like that. Arabella was nothing if not a thorough researcher; she went to the Bella Union, to the Gem, and even went so far as asking _Eugene_. They’d been getting along quite well since she’d moved out; it turns out marriage suited both of them better when they weren’t actually fulfilling any of the obligations or expectations of marriage, and didn’t try and pretend that they had a relationship other than a loose sort of friendship. Arabella and Miriam had him over for lunch every Tuesday, when they weren’t away on a job.

“Well, the uh – the moose left me a puzzle last year,” Eugene had said when she’d asked. “A real nice one, too.”

She’d rolled her eyes, and declined his offer to show her which one.

“There just ain’t no talkin’ folks out of a stupid fairy tale, I suppose,” she’d muttered as she left.

* * *

“Of course it’s real,” Katy had said the next time she was at the Bella Union, eyes bright with laughter, painted mouth curved into a smirk. Whitney had leaned on her shoulder and nodded. “It brought us all sorts of pretty fabrics, enough for a new dress each.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe,” Whitney had chided gently. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?” 

“My Christmas spirit sure as hell ain't with the fucking megafauna,” Arabella grumbled as she tromped out into the snow. “If I ain’t fool enough to believe in Saint Nick, I sure ain’t fool enough to believe in a moose.”

* * *

“Oh, uh, yes ma’am, yes I’ve seen the Christmas moose,” Johnny had stammered when she’d asked him. “He was uh, dark brown, and uh - big. Big as a, as a –“

“As a barn?” Arabella supplied helpfully.

Johnny looked confused. “Oh, no, ma’am, as big as a moose.”

Arabella had resisted the urge to slam her head against the bar, but only barely. “Thank you for that _wonderful_ bit of insight, Johnny. I’m glad to hear that the ‘Christmas moose’ was as big as a moose.”

Johnny had nodded solemnly. “Always happy to help, Missus Whitlock.”

“Anything else you know about it?” Arabella asked weakly.

Johnny stared off into space, contemplating. “He’s got them real big antlers.”

“Right. As moose do.”

She gave up after that.

* * *

“Milk, or brandy?”

“What?”

Aly raised an eyebrow. “For the Christmas moose. Do y’think he’d prefer milk, or brandy? Or maybe some nice cranberry juice. He’s gotta get thirsty, right? And Miriam’s already leavin’ out cookies, and Clay’s leavin’ out carrots, so…”

Arabella stared at him. Even if she had given up trying to work out the problem that was the Christmas moose, the others hadn’t, and kept bringing it up in increasingly silly ways. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. I can’t be the only one not leavin’ out treats for him.”

“You,” she said matter-of-factly, “are all children. No, you are _worse_ than children.”

Aly grinned. “You’re just figurin’ that out now?” She scowled, and his grin turned softer. “C’mon, Bells. You ain’t gotta buy into it, but let us have our fun. It’s Christmas, y’know?”

She sighed. _Goddamn Christmas good spirits._ “You live with Clayton, aren’t his carrots enough of a treat from the three of you?”

“No, I wanna leave out something too, so he knows that I’m sayin’ thank-you.”

“Of course you do,” she muttered. “Well, what’s Matthew leavin’ out?”

Aly shrugged. “Dunno. He likes to uh, to keep it secret until Christmas eve.”

 _Of all the silly things._ “Fine. Put out a nice bucket of water, and a couple sugar cubes on a plate. Juice’ll make its fur all sticky if it gets spilled on it, and cow’s milk probably ain’t good for a moose. And nobody needs a drunk moose.”

“… you’re not wrong. Alright, water and sugar cubes it is. Thanks, ‘Bells, I knew I could get you to help.”

Arabella rolled her eyes. She’d found herself doing it quite a bit, as of late.

“I wonder if twenty sugar cubes is too many…”

* * *

“Think the Christmas moose is gonna shit on Swearengen’s porch again this year?”

Arabella choked on her coffee, barely managing to keep from spitting it everywhere. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Clayton and Miriam grinned.

“That’s right, you weren’t here last year,” Clayton said. “He leaves gifts for a lot of folks, right? But Swearengen – he gets a big ol’ steamin’ pile of shit.”

“ _Much_ funnier than coal,” Miriam added helpfully. “I only wish I’d seen his face Christmas morning, it would have been a sight to see.”

“How do you know it was for Swearengen?” Arabella asked suspiciously. “And you sure it wasn’t a dog, or a horse?”

They both burst out laughing.

“Oh, no, honey, it was much too big to be a horse,” Miriam said. “And the way I heard it told, there was a little gift tag on it and everything.”

“Sounds like a rumor gone wild to me,” Arabella said with a shrug. “A funny one, sure, but just a rumor. Right?”

Clayton snorted into his coffee. “Sure, ‘Bells. Just a rumour.”

* * *

“I just don’t get it. Of all the stories, why a moose? They ain’t even that common here!”

Miriam slipped her arm around Arabella’s waist, snuggling close under the covers and burying her nose between Arabella’s shoulder blades.

“Darling, go to sleep. You can rant about it in the morning.”

Arabella sputtered. “I’m not _ranting._ ”

Miriam huffed a sleepy laugh. “You’ve been ranting for a week straight.”

“I have _not_ –“

A kiss smudged against the back of Arabella’s bare neck, and she fell silent.

“It’s okay,” Miriam murmured, “I love your rants. But maybe not right now, alright?”

Arabella exhaled, letting herself sink into the mattress. “Fine. You gotta admit it’s stupid, though.”

Miriam yawned. “Of course it is. That’s what makes it so fun.”

* * *

Before she knew it, Christmas eve was upon them, and even the sheer and utter ridiculousness that was the ‘Christmas moose’ couldn’t tamper the excitement and wonder of the season. It had snowed that morning, and everything was bright and beautiful. Miriam even made her pancakes for breakfast, with ginger and sticky-sweet molasses. They spent the day doing last-minute things, wrapping gifts for the boys, and sneaking away to wrap gifts for each other, with the delightful sort of false covertness that came from knowing _exactly_ what the other was doing. It was a day of laughter, of fire crackling in the hearth, of cloves and nutmeg in the air, of cookie-flavoured kisses stolen over a floured kitchen table.

As evening fell, they pulled on thick stockings and boots and hats to tromp through the snow to church. It was beautiful, candles lit everywhere, voices echoing in unison as they sang out hymn after hymn. Matthew beamed from the pulpit at the full church, and especially at their little family, all lined up in the second row despite grumblings from Clayton and Aly. All of them knew they didn't mean it; they were always here for Matthew, just as he was here for them. And while Arabella had never been one for church, she could understand the draw of it, on a night like this. A community, drawn together through the darkest nights of the winter, united in song and spirit.

And as she held her hymnal with Miriam, shoulders pressed close together to feel the warmth, their voices winding together in harmony, she knew she never wanted to spend Christmas anywhere other than here.

* * *

Once all the people were gone, and all the candles had been put out, they braved the snow once more, stomping back to Miriam and Arabella’s house, where it was bright and warm and felt more like home than anywhere Arabella had ever been in her life. The boys came with, piling into their sitting room and gathering around the fireplace for goodies and hot apple cider with more whisky than perhaps was advisable.

As the clocked ticked closer to midnight, finally Aly stood and stretched. “We should get out of your hair,” he said with a wink. “Don’t want to be out and about while the Christmas moose does his work, we might spook him off.”

Arabella, who had long since given up rolling her eyes, just laughed. “Maybe I’ll stay up, try and see if the stories are true.”

“You most certainly will _not_ ,” Miriam said firmly. “You can look for hoofprints in the morning, like a sensible person.”

“Don’t worry,” Clayton said, “I’m sure you’ll wake up with all the racket he makes, bangin’ on the door with his hooves.”

Matthew looked momentarily put out. “It’s not a _racket_ , Clay. I don’t mind it, at least.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clayton muttered, “I love you to death, Matty, but you sleep like the dead. Lord knows you probably sleep through the whole thing anyway.”

Aly pulled Clayton towards the door. “Leave the poor man alone, Clay. C’mon darlin's, let’s be off and leave these two lovely ladies to their evening.”

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Miriam called as the boys piled out the door, all three holding hands. “Not too early, mind you.”

“Don’t worry,” Clayton called with a grin, “we’ll let you have your lie in.”

And then they were gone, leaving behind a grinning Miriam and a furiously blushing Arabella. Miriam turned to her, smiling.

“Want to help me put out the cookies for the moose?”

 _The funny thing about loving someone,_ Arabella thought _, is that you suddenly want to do all the silly stuff they love with them, just to see them smile._

So she nodded, and let Miriam pull her to her feet, brushing a soft kiss against her lips when she was standing. “Alright, love. Let’s leave him some treats.”

* * *

Some hours later Arabella woke to a banging on their door. If it could even be called a banging; it certainly wasn’t a _knock_. It was spaced oddly apart, and _loud_ , thudding through the house and making an awful racket.

“What the _hell_ –“

Miriam barely stirred as Arabella flung herself out of bed, slipping across the room to grab her pistol, then creeping out of the room. She’d always been a light sleeper, and there was no point in waking Miriam; likely it was just a drunk, or one of the boys needing help.

The door slammed again, rattling the windowpane. Arabella stepped cautiously for the front door.

“Who’s there?” she called, pistol cocked and at the ready.

Nobody answered. She stepped closer, listening carefully. And there, just faintly, she heard the plod of heavy footfalls.

She unlocked the door and wrenched it open, peering out into the night.

The first thing she noticed was that it was snowing, big fluffy flakes falling down from the sky. The second thing she noticed was that it was very cold, and that she had kicked her socks off in the night. But the third thing she noticed was the massive moose walking slowly away from their door.

“Oh my _God_.”

She hadn’t meant to yell, but really, who could blame her? Her voice broke the soft stillness of the night, echoing down the street. And slowly, slowly, the moose turned and looked at her.

She’d never seen a moose before. Not up close, not like this. Oh, she’d seen pictures, detailed illustrations in nature books that showed a large, awkward beast with massive antlers. And she’d heard stories, of folks who’d stumbled across ones in the woods, whispered tales of how dangerous they could be.

None of the stories or pictures did it justice. The Christmas moose (for that’s what it had to be, there was no other explanation, even if her brain was quietly breaking over how the stupid fairy tale was _real_ ) was _giant_ , towering over her. He seemed as big as a house, easily eight feet at the shoulder, not counting the massive antlers spreading out from his skull. His thick brown fur was dusted with snow, and sleepy black eyes blinked at her from a head as big as her torso. And there, dangling from his mouth, was a large sack, bulging with packages.

 _With gifts_.

“You’re real,” she breathed. “Holy fuck.”

The moose snorted and dropped his sack. Then he lumbered around, stepping carefully through the snowdrifts on massive hooves. Arabella stood, frozen in place and barely breathing, as he walked closer and closer. When he stopped he was a scant foot away, so close she could see his breath in the chilly winter air. Somehow, even though she knew she should be, she wasn’t scared. 

So she did the only logical thing, and carefully held out her hand.

The moose lowered his massive head, bridging the gap between them and carefully pressing his velvet-soft muzzle into her hand. She stared into his eyes, transfixed, then pet him gently, smiling at the rumble the moose gave in response.

It was one of the most magical moments in her life. At least, it was until the moose lifted his head and snorted all over her.

“Oh, _gross_.” She wiped the mucus off her face, but by then the moose had turned back around and was picking his way down the street. It looked back at her, snorted again, then picked up the sack. And then he was gone, disappearing into the night, leaving her alone on her doorstep in the snow.

Her toes were cold. She looked down at the snow in front of her doorstep, just to check for hoofprints, just to check that she wasn’t imagining everything. The cookies, carefully placed on a plate outside the door, were gone, only a trail of crumbs left behind. And there, sitting in front of the door, two massive hoofprints on either side of it, were two carefully wrapped gifts.

Footsteps padded up behind her. Miriam’s arms slipped around her waist, her chin hooking over Arabella’s shoulder.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” she murmured.

Arabella nodded, still awe-struck by the experience. “I thought…”

Miriam kissed her shoulder. “I know. Come on, love. Let’s go back to bed. Bring the gifts, we’ll open them in the morning.”

* * *

Across town, the parsonage door creaked open, then closed. The house was quiet, hushed with snow and the comfortable darkness of night. Footsteps pattered softly across rough wooden floorboards. Through the mudroom, across the sitting room, into the bedroom. They paused beside the bed for a long moment before a hand lifted the covers just enough to slip inside, hoping not to disturb the two men already sleeping.

No such luck. Clayton turned over, wrapping one arm around Matthew and smudging a kiss on his bare shoulder.

“All done?” he asked sleepily.

Matthew nodded, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Yeah. All done.”

“Good.”

The bed creaked, then Aly was turning over and burying his face in Clayton’s shoulders, curling an arm over Clayton’s waist, then wedging it between Clayton and Matthew’s bodies.

“Did y’like m’ sugar cubes?” he mumbled, voice muffled by Clayton’s sleep shirt.

Matthew turned carefully, leaning across Clayton to press a kiss first to Aly’s temple, then Clayton’s forehead. He settled back on the bed, letting Clayton curl into his chest. “I did. Thank you, darlin’. You too, Clay. You didn’t need to leave me anything.”

“I wanted to,” Aly slurred. The hand wedged between Matthew and Clayton’s bodies shifted, patting awkwardly at Matthew’s stomach before settling back in its place. “’S nice, what you do.”

Matthew smiled. He laid his arm across both their waists, keeping them all pressed together, a perfect tangle of warm bodies under the covers. “It’s fun. And I maybe, just maybe, woke up Arabella.”

Clayton laughed softly. “Did you, now.”

“Let’s just say that I don’t think she’ll be so skeptical after this.”

“Ten dollars says she’s got it figured out within the week,” Clayton whispered. Soft sleepy noises came from over his shoulder, Aly trying valiantly to stay awake.

Matthew hummed. “I’d give it two days, tops. She’s a smart one.” He pressed another kiss to Clayton’s hair, let his hand lay heavy on Aly’s hip. “Go back to sleep, loves. We can talk about it in the mornin’.”

“Alright.” Clayton snuggled closer. “Merry Christmas, Matty.”

“Merry Chrissmuss,” Aly echoed sleepily.

Matthew smiled. This, right here, was what made Christmas so magical, more than delivering gifts, or eating goodies, or any of the other holiday traditions; all three of them, curled up together, keeping each other close, keeping each other warm.

“Merry Christmas, darlins. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was also prompted by discussion some time ago in the UnDeadwood discord about "were-moose Matthew," or Moosethew Mooson, if you will. I couldn't not use the idea. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this very silly little fic. I wish all of you a very happy and safe holidays, whatever you celebrate <3


End file.
